


Green Scarf to a Bull

by victorine



Category: Basic Instinct (Movies), Hannibal Extended Universe - Fandom, Mænd & høns | Men & Chicken (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drinking, Fluff, Hannibal Extended Universe, Honest, M/M, Madancy AU, Masturbation, Revenge Seduction, adam's not all that much better, disastrous attempts at getting a shag, elias is rude, eventually, for Basic Instinct 2, hannigram AU, man is that a terrible movie, no really, the things I do for you Hugh Dancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-09-14 14:27:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9186302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorine/pseuds/victorine
Summary: It's past 2am in Copenhagen and all Adam Towers wants is a shag. Doesn't even have to be a very good one. What he gets is Elias, public humiliation and a thirst for revenge... and, later, for other things.A kind of loose 5+1 fic, featuring five times Adam attempts to get close to Elias, and one where... well, you'll see.





	1. Attempt 1: Can I Fill You Up?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Basic Chicken week on tumblr (thanks to LazyBaker/@granpappy-winchester for running it), because I adore this ship and have been wanting to try writing it for ages. This is my first time writing a real rare pair, so go easy lovelies!
> 
> Thanks, yet again, to TigerPrawn, TCBook, nightliferogue and HotSauce418 for their encouragement and support. You guys rock.

Adam Towers was having a lousy fucking night. Quite literally, in fact. He’d passed through three different clubs and not one person seemed interested in the legendary Towers charm. It was completely inexplicable – who would turn down a prize like Adam Towers? Ok, maybe the language barrier had tripped him up a bit – his Danish was, well, rudimentary would be stretching things – but most of the people in this country supposedly spoke good English, and, anyway, who needed words to communicate the need to shag? There was a universal language of sex, and Adam was fluent in it.

Or he used to be, anyway.

Not that he was losing his touch. That was simply unimaginable. Adam Towers was hot shit and Denmark didn’t know what had hit it. They just hadn't realised it yet.

So now he was in a pub, some old-fashioned, cosy place that had been the first one he’d come to that looked vaguely welcoming and was within spitting distance of his flat. It was after 2am, the window for getting a shag was closing fast, so the one on finding somewhere upscale had been slammed shut. No time to waste on niceties: the first person he found in here who was remotely fuckable, was getting fucked.

Then again… Adam surveyed the diminishing crowd and realised that he might have to turn that “remotely fuckable” into “breathing and able to form thoughts” if he wanted any chance of getting laid tonight. And possibly he’d have to be flexible on that second part. He was definitely dealing with the dregs of Copenhagen society here, for the most part unfashionable, unattractive and un-fucking-likely to give Adam a night to remember. Maybe there really wasn’t anybody left in this godforsaken city who was more appealing than his own right hand.

Adam took a deep breath, a deeper pull of his whisky sour, and took stock. There was a woman in the corner who’d been leering at him since he’d breezed into the pub but he was pretty sure the gleam in her eye was less exciting than utterly psychotic – and he’d had quite enough of that kind of encounter back in London, thank you. And the guy with the ginger hair had a sweet smile but looked exactly the sort to fall in love with the first person who blew him and… no. Love was not on the agenda tonight.

Just as Adam was getting truly desperate, a couple of definite rejects left their seats at the bar, revealing a man seated at the far end, huddled in on himself and nursing a beer. He wasn’t exactly a breath-taking prospect. His hair sat in an unstyled mess of sandy, greying curls, possibly last fashionable when Adam was about ten years old. Beneath that, his eyes were obscured, cast down towards his pint, but Adam could see an oddly misshapen nose, as if the guy had been slammed against a wall several times and never had the damage fixed. And, oh god, the trapped-in-the-eighties look was completed by an ungroomed, unflattering moustache.

Actually Adam had a bit of a thing for facial hair but a little basic grooming was necessary for it to have _that_ effect.

And as for the clothes. There was only one word for the pullover the man was wearing and it was “brown.” Wasting other adjectives on it would be a crime. The rest of the outfit, well, it wasn’t even worthy of prepositions.

But still… even hunched in, Adam could tell he was big, and nicely built. Broad shoulders and, leaning back, Adam could see long legs wrapped around his bar stool. Promisingly large, strong hands clutching that glass, too. If he looked past the unfortunate surface, there were encouraging signs with this one.

And, most importantly, he’d just flicked a glance towards Adam and had swiftly turned a very appealing shade of pink, his eyes widening comically before he snapped them back to his pint.

Target acquired. This should very much not be Mission Impossible. More like Mission “yes, I am just desperate enough to blow you in the bathroom, don’t trip over anything in your rush to get there.”

Adam slipped neatly from his own stool, flicking his hair off his face and slinking his way towards his intended. He could see the man watching his movements from out the corner of his eye, and let a flirty smile play on his lips… which quickly turned to a smirk as he noticed  the guy shifting awkwardly in his seat. Such an effect in just a few steps, this really shouldn’t take long at all. Adam hopped up next to the man, making sure to brush close against him as he settled in, glanced at his nearly-empty drink and, levelling a coy look at him from beneath his lashes (the one that had been known to reduce men and women to drooling wrecks), asked, “Can I fill you up, big guy?”

Ok, fine, his flirting technique might have been a little rusty. But still, this was clearly the best offer this guy was going to get in his lifetime, there really wasn’t much need for finesse.

The response wasn’t exactly… _enthusiastic_ , though. The man raised his head and looked at Adam with narrowed eyes that flicked nervily along the length of his body before settling just shy of real contact. “Is it me you are talking to?” he asked, and the voice, while a little strident, was deep and accented and altogether pleasing. And spoke perfect English, what a fucking relief.

“Yeah, gorgeous,” Adam shot back, “I’d like to buy you a drink. What do you think?”

The man snapped his head towards Adam with such a look of surprise that Adam felt his heart swell a little with sympathy, not an emotion with which he was overfamiliar. Obviously this guy had rarely been called something like _gorgeous_ in his life, and Adam was suddenly struck by the strange desire to remedy that. He let his smile, currently turned firmly to sex-kitten, soften into something more genuine and felt a surge of satisfaction to see the other man’s expression relax a little.

And, oh, was that a cleft lip? That was… interesting. How would that feel to kiss, Adam wondered, letting his gaze linger on it for a moment.

“You are staring. It is very rude to stare, you will it stop at once.”

Oh shit. Big mistake. Adam couldn’t give two hoots about his lip (the size of his dick was far more of a concern), but he could see how it might be a sensitive subject.

“Sorry, darling, I just lost myself for a minute thinking about how that moustache is gonna feel when I kiss you. Or when we do some other fun things,” Adam said easily, ready to congratulate himself on an excellent save.

Until he saw the look on the other guy’s face.

“I do not understand what you mean by this,” he began, in a loud, stiff voice, tinged with something almost like panic. “Why would you think I would want to kiss you?”

Oh boy, he’d picked a live one.

Ok, one last shot, and then he was packing it in, fuck or no fuck.

“Look, sweetheart,” Adam said, keeping his tone level but still inviting, “it’s getting fucking late, I’d like to get off before the night’s over, and it doesn’t look like either of us has any better prospects for a shag. Now, you don’t have to take me to your bed, I’m sure the bathrooms in this fine establishment are very comfortable. So how about it?”

For a second, as the man’s pupils blew so huge they obscured the (actually, rather pretty) honey-brown shade of his irises, Adam thought he was in.

But then.

“How dare you speak to me in this way? I have many _prospects_ , I am extremely handsome and virile, women are always wanting to sleep with me. Men too, many of them. You are very rude and not at all attractive. You must be crazy to think such things. Why would I want a crazy person?” The man was outright shouting now, and Adam looked around, cringing at the stares and giggles they were attracting. He held up a hand, meaning to soothe the man’s temper, only to get it slapped away. “No, you are not to touch me, crazy man. I am going to leave now and you are not to follow me, even though you are so desperate to have me.”

And with that, the man awkwardly clambered off his seat, pulled his coat around him and stomped out of the pub, leaving Adam (and everybody else) gawking after him in disbelief.

“What,” Adam breathed out after a minute, “the almighty fuck was that?”

“ _That_ ,” said a voice from behind Adam, who turned to see the bartender looking at him in amusement, “was Elias. Comes in here twice a week, nurses a beer all night, is incredibly weird with anyone who talks to him and never _ever_ gets hit on. You actually won me a bet tonight – Fryderyk over there is furious that you decided to flirt with the big bull before the six-month deadline was up.”

Adam looked over to see a man with a prissily-trimmed beard glaring at him. If he ever came back to this pub, he definitely wasn’t ordering anything from that guy – he wasn’t paying for spit and tonics all night.

“So, wait,” he said, turning his attention back to the other bartender, “he’s been coming in twice a week for six months and he’s never once got any action?” There it was again, that odd feeling of sympathy, of wanting to brighten this sad sack’s dull life a little bit. Adam quickly stomped it down and added, “And he _still_ turned all this down?” He gestured at himself for emphasis.

“Guess you’re not quite as appealing as you thought,” Fryderyk snarked, smirking nastily over the counter. The other bartender grinned at him and Adam was almost more pissed off at the pity in his expression than the petty spite in his mate’s.

 _Fuck that_ , he thought, paying for his drinks and utterly failing to leave a tip, _nobody humiliates and rejects Adam Towers and gets away with it._ A thought struck him, and he turned back to the bar, a charming smile on his face.

“Terrible manners, fellas, I forgot a tip. Here’s something for all your help tonight, hope it makes up for your loss,” he said, winking at Fryderyk and sliding a high-value note across the bar. After all, he was going to want the bartenders on side when he came back next week.

 _Look out, Elias, I’m going to make you want me so bad you won’t be able to see straight, then we’ll see how_ you _like a little public humiliation._


	2. Attempt 2: Come Here Often?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam Towers has been rejected and humiliated. In public. This cannot stand. He will have his reckoning. Assuming Elias plays ball, that is...

According to Fryderyk and Jaime (the other bartender), Elias came in every Wednesday and Saturday at 10pm, ordered one pint every two hours and left at 2am. The night Adam had been in, he’d stayed later for some reason (Adam wondered if it had been to continue to shoot furtive glances in his direction) but otherwise he’d always kept exactly to schedule, lurking in his seat in the corner (sometimes with a book, sometimes just staring off into space) and mouthing off about rudeness to anybody who approached. Apparently some of the regulars had tried making a drinking game out of it – take a shot every time Elias went off at someone – but the bar had put an end to it after someone almost got hospitalised.

Armed with this knowledge, Adam decided to return to the pub on the Wednesday (less chance of amused onlookers if things went pear-shaped again), waiting until just before twelve to make his entrance – long enough for Elias to have relaxed into his surroundings, and to have got that first drink down his neck. If the man could be at ease (and the bartenders seemed to think it wasn’t physically possible), this was probably the moment for it.

Adam smoothed his green scarf and flicked his hair back from his face, squared his shoulders and pushed open the pub’s door. This was going to be a tricky operation – if he didn’t get the tone just right, Elias would almost certainly fly straight off the handle and out of the pub never to return. And Adam was damned if he was going to let the big, thoughtless jerk off that easy.

Lucky that Adam was used to dealing with awkward subjects. He was, after all, the best investigative journalist in London.

_Was. Past tense, Towers._

Adam shook off the thought, well-practiced at it now, and glanced towards the end of the bar, relieved to see that Elias was in his usual seat and hadn’t decided to give the pub a miss after their encounter. He gave both bartenders a nod and approached Elias gingerly, holding up both hands in supplication when the man noticed him, and starting to speak before Elias could launch into another temper tantrum.

“Before you say anything, please allow me to apologise,” Adam said, hoping that his expression had landed somewhere in the vicinity of _contrite_ , “I’ve been coming in here every night this week hoping you’d be in.” A total lie but, as planned, Fryderyk piped up to confirm it (thus securing another hefty tip), allowing Adam to continue uninterrupted. “I was most dreadfully rude to you that night, you were quite right to tell me off for it.” Adam allowed himself a moment of triumph as Elias’ eyes widened slightly, apparently at the idea that anyone thought he was _right_ about something. “I’m afraid I was three sheets to the wind and I just couldn’t resist talking to you.” Wider eyes still at this. “But that isn’t any excuse for my frightfully poor manners and I’ve felt just _awful_ about it ever since. Could you find it in your heart to forgive me?” Out of the corner of his eye, Adam saw Jaime raise an eyebrow. Alright, he was laying it on a bit thick – and he sounded like something out of an Ealing comedy – but he was pretty sure someone like Elias wasn’t going to respond to subtlety.

And a moment later he was proven right when Elias narrowed his eyes and asked, “What is this… three sheets?”

“Oh! It means I was half-cut.” The eyes narrowed further. “Um… drunk. I was really, very, shamefully drunk. It’s what we say in England.”

“We do not have that expression here. It is very unhelpful of you to use it. You should use Danish expressions if you want to be understood in Denmark, that is obvious.”

It was a Herculean task for Adam not to roll his eyes straight into the back of his head, but he managed it. “Well then,” he said, reminding himself of the point of this endeavour, “perhaps you’ll let me buy you a drink this time, and you can teach me some.”

Which is how Adam Towers wound up spending his Wednesday night in conversation with likely the strangest man in Copenhagen. Possibly all of Denmark itself. And the really strange thing? It wasn’t unenjoyable. Elias was rude, brash, delusional, egotistical and just plain odd. He was also an utter original. Adam had never met anyone like him, and Adam had met just about _everyone_. He couldn’t predict what would come out of the man’s mouth next, whether a tirade about Charles Darwin (“that moron!”) or the very weird tale of the brothers he had been living with until recently (“I had to leave, they were all very jealous that they are old, married men and I am still young and virile with many seeds to sow,”). Elias was… _surprising_. Adam couldn’t remember the last time he’d been surprised by anyone.

It was rather nice.

Which perhaps was why Adam found himself offering stories in turn (when he could get a word in edgewise). Tales from when he’d been the hottest thing in English journalism, glamorous parties he’d attended, exotic countries he’d visited. Even, somehow, the story of how he’d lost it all, nearly died because of that psycho bitch novelist (only the inflated lung capacity of a champion dick sucker had saved him there) and then been utterly discredited when he tried to take her down. Of how he’d switched to travel journalism if for no other reason than to get the fuck out of London, and how he’d been pushed out of _that_ by bloggers and tripadvisor.com. How he’d pitched up in Denmark without the faintest fucking clue of what he was going to do next, other than find a flat and get copiously, obnoxiously drunk.

Elias had suggested he write a book. And, well, it wasn’t like Adam hadn’t thought about it. His journalistic reputation might’ve been in tatters but he still had a decent imagination and a way with words… why not try a novel? Well because, as he pointed out to Elias, he was a little lacking in the old commitment department and a whole novel just seemed like such a lot of work…

After which Elias had called him “completely idiotic” and, after a second of stunned silence, Adam had broken out in laughter and agreed. And only partially because he was still working on keeping Elias onside. Mostly, it was because it was true. It had been a long time since anyone had been so bluntly honest with Adam, and that was rather nice too.

_Shit_. Adam was having a good time. With Elias. Elias, who this evening was clad in the beigest shirt in all existence, and who kept getting a foam moustache on top of his actual moustache. This was absolutely, totally, one hundred percent not part of the plan.

The plan which, under other circumstances, Adam might well have given up on by now. The thought of how Elias’ face would look after Adam rejected him, crumpled and wounded and probably teary, wasn’t sitting right with him at all and that might have been enough to put Adam off going through with it. Except that some kind soul who’d been in the pub that night, had decided to upload their video of the incident to Twitter. Where, somehow, possibly because of the magical powers being a total hellbitch got you, it had been noticed by an ex-girlfriend and quickly circulated around Adam’s acquaintances and followers. And Adam just couldn’t forgive that, no matter how entertainingly unique Elias was.

Mission Humiliate This Uptight – if somewhat strangely endearing – Bastard was still very much a go.

So Adam made sure to inch closer and closer as the minutes ticked by, made sure to hold Elias’ gaze just a moment too long, to press their thighs together ever-so-gently… and then ever-not-so-gently. And he was rewarded with some very obvious confirmation that he hadn’t imagined Elias’ interest the other night: pupils blown, nervous grins and hitches of breath, an increasing ease with Adam’s little touches. Not to mention, more of that strange shifting and twitching that Adam was really hoping was arousal and not some sort of weird tic the man couldn’t get rid of.

But 2am was fast approaching and he couldn’t allow Elias to leave without a thorough humiliation (no matter if the thought of it was suddenly making Adam’s stomach feel strange). The time for subtlety was over.

After a quick check that Elias’ attention was on him (as if it had been anywhere else all night), Adam ‘accidentally’ tipped his glass in such a way that a drop of whisky rolled over the edge and began to make its way slowly down the surface. Adam smirked and, firmly holding eye contact with Elias, extended his tongue to catch the drop at the base before teasingly tracing its route back up to the rim.

The whimper Elias let out told Adam he’d won. All he had to do was lean forward and kiss… _pretend_ , he was only going to pretend… to kiss…

Elias shot back and off his stool, mumbling something about needing to use the bathroom and “sorry.” Adam watched him go in dismay.

_Fuck, not again_.

But no, this time no one had noticed, not even Fryderyk and Jaime, who were engaged in an arm-wrestling contest that Jaime was clearly winning. This could still be salvaged, Adam just needed to wait for Elias to get back from…

_That gigantic wanker._

Elias had taken his coat, probably planning to escape through the window (a move Adam had himself perfected over the years). Oh no, no way did Adam Towers let a target go this easy. He would sneak into the bathroom and catch the big bull red-handed. With any luck he’d have gotten himself stuck in the window, the enormous, clumsy bastard.

Adam hopped down off his seat and strode towards the bathroom. He slid in through the mercifully creak-free door and lunged round the corner, ready to bust Elias mid-escape…

And found the window closed and no one there.

It had been less than a minute between Elias leaving and Adam following him. There was no way an out-of-shape fifty-something with shoulders that broad ( _not that Adam had been looking_ ) could have gotten out of the window that fast. So where the fuck was he?

Wait, Adam could hear… what the hell was that? A wet smacking, rhythmic and desperate…

_Holy shit._

Elias was wanking in one of the stalls.

At least that explained all that wriggling.

This was perfect! Adam would lean over the adjacent cubicle, get some photo evidence, report Elias (loudly) to Jaime and Fryderyk, and then, for good measure, pop the whole thing up on the Internet for the world to see. Quid pro quo.

Adam padded forward, eternally grateful that the rubber soles of his boots meant he could walk soundlessly without having to change into his stockinged feet. He slid into the stall next to Elias’ and, pulling out his phone, climbed carefully onto the (annoyingly lid-free) toilet seat and leaned over the wall.

_Oh. Oh my._

Adam forgot to take the photo. Hell, Adam forgot to breathe.

Elias had, by some distance, the most enormous dick Adam had ever had the fortune to lay eyes on. Suddenly, Adam could see why Jaime had referred to him as a bull in the first place: the size of that cock was more bovine than human.

Once, when he was seven, Adam had seen a rocking horse in the shape of a stag in the toy section of Harrods. He had talked of nothing else for eight straight months and when Christmas came and no stag appeared, the subsequent tantrum had been so extravagant that their neighbours had actually called the police. He had never wanted anything so badly as he wanted that stag.

He wanted Elias’ cock more.

God, it was perfect: easily eight inches, uncut, thick as a bingo dauber. Hell, thick as _two_. It was also a very angry red and glossily slick with precum, even though Elias could barely have started more than thirty seconds ago. He must have been straining in his pants the whole time Adam was talking to him… _God._

Adam couldn’t help it; he made a tiny noise of want in the back of his throat.

And of course, despite his panting and the squelching of his frantic strokes, Elias heard it.

And then, locking his wide, startled eyes with Adam’s, he came. Copiously.

After that there was a lot of frantic noise and movement. Elias shrieked indignantly, causing Adam to reel back and put his foot in the toilet and give out a disgusted yelp of his own. Then it was a race to see who could extricate himself from the stall first, with Adam emerging the (slightly damp) winner, banging his door open and turning to find a (somewhat soiled) Elias storming out of his in turn.

“You!” the older man bellowed. “Why were you watching me? You wanted to laugh at silly Elias, is that it?”

“No, god, Elias, I wasn’t laughing at you, honestly!” Adam told him, taking a few steps back as a fuming Elias advanced. He had been right, the hurt expression on Elias’ face wasn’t one he ever wanted to see again. “I just…” Adam cast around for an excuse that would work, and decided to go for something at least semi-honest. “You took your coat!”

Elias stopped mid-stride, confused. “What does my coat have to do with anything?”

“You took it, and I thought…” Adam let his own expression turn wounded, pouting just a little bit, “I thought you were going to do a runner on me and I didn’t want you to.”

If Elias had looked stunned before, he looked utterly bamboozled now. It took a full minute before he spoke again. “You wanted me to stay?”

Adam smiled, coy and gently teasing, “Well yeah, we were having a nice time, right?” Elias said nothing in response, only ducked his head shyly, so Adam continued. “And then you went off and I wanted to at least talk to you, so I followed you in here and I was hearing these noises and… well, honestly,” Adam lied, “I thought you might be sick and I just wanted to check, so…”

It sounded like utter bullshit even to Adam, but Elias just raised his eyes a little and asked, softly, “You were worried about me?”

Adam tried hard to ignore the little thump his heart gave, and nodded.

After that it was easy for Adam to manoeuvre Elias back out into the pub, to order him another drink (discreetly shooing an expectant Fryderyk in the process) and to sit in an oddly charged but not unpleasant silence until Elias looked up and told Adam that it was time for him to go home.

“But,” he added, “perhaps I will see you here again one night?”

Adam gave a grin that felt unsettlingly genuine. “It’s a distinct possibility.”

Elias gave a small smile in return and then shocked Adam entirely by grabbing him in a tight hug that lasted for a good two minutes, before extricating himself and heading for the door without another word.

Behind him, Jaime leaned over and fixed him with _a look_. “What,” the bartender asked, “the hell was that?”

“ _That_ was Elias,” Adam responded. “And _this_ ,” he added, “is me changing the plan.” And then he slid down and followed Elias out of the pub. And proceeded to follow him at a discreet distance to a slightly dowdy but respectable apartment block not too far from Adam’s own flat, where Elias let himself in (albeit not before shouting at a cat for… well, being a cat).

Now Adam knew where his target lived, he could set about figuring out the best places to ‘bump into’ him. This wasn’t stalking, Adam reasoned, it was _research_. He was just ensuring that, as requested, Elias was going to be seeing more of Adam Towers in future… and then, if all went according to plan, Adam would be seeing (a lot) more of Elias (and his glorious cock) in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really wanted to get this chapter ready for the end of Basic Chickens week but sadly it didn't happen :( And I must warn you all that I'm not sure how regular the updates will be on this fic (I'm back at uni so my writing time has shrunk again). I'll do my best to keep them coming but... be patient with me? Love you all, come see me on [tumblr](http://victorineb.tumblr.com/), ok?


	3. Attempt 3: Going My Way?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elias proves to be an uncooperative research subject but Adam is nothing if not tenacious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I did warn you I was slow... Apologies for making you all wait for this. I can't promise my rate is going to improve, but I will deliver eventually!

The nice thing about being an unemployed social outcast, Adam reflected, was that it gave you plenty of time to pursue your interests. Like, for example, shadowing the object of your desire (and the man attached to it), in order to figure out the best place to orchestrate an “accidental” meeting. Then turn up looking absolutely _to die for_ , bat his eyelashes and, Bob’s your very-well-endowed uncle, ride that enormous cock all the way to orgasm town.

There was just one problem with Adam’s fabulous plan: it’s damn near impossible to follow someone who never leaves their fucking flat.

In three days of _researching_ , Adam had discovered that Elias got his groceries delivered, ate at home, and didn’t go out at night (except presumably for his trips to the pub and Adam wasn’t going back there. Mostly because he couldn’t afford to keep tipping Jaime and Fryderyk to keep their gobs shut). In all that time he witnessed Elias leave once, and that was only to remonstrate with a delivery man who had had the temerity to mistakenly push Elias’ buzzer instead of his neighbour’s. At least, Adam thought that was what was going on, though given the state of his Danish, if someone told him the postie had been accusing Elias of cannibalism and Elias was threatening to make him into a pot roast, Adam wouldn’t have been able to disprove it. Either way, he was pretty certain Elias was going to find something fairly unpleasant in his letterbox in the next few days, and almost considered that the ensuing explosion might be reason enough to keep sticking around.

Adam almost envied Elias. He’d never had the chance for a quiet life, always had to be seen by the right people, in the right places, first because of his parents and then because of his job. But that was ok, wasn’t it, because he’d loved all that, the thrill of being part of the elite, always chasing after bigger, better, faster… who wouldn’t want to have that life?

_Doesn’t matter now, does it? You’re never getting back there, loser._

Just sitting and watching for three days was beginning to turn Adam a little insane, if he was honest. He wasn’t used to spending this amount of time inside his own head – distractions were easy to come by and he’d never seen the point of denying himself – and Adam was beginning to think that even Elias’ golden cock wasn’t worth the hassle of listening to his own brain endlessly point out his own shortcomings.

_Never did have any stamina, did you, Towers?_

On the fourth day Adam slept in, decided to officially give up on the plan, then came so hard thinking about riding Elias while showering that he immediately changed his mind. Curls still damp and reasonably certain he’d put his underwear on back to front, Adam sprinted to the park he’d been lurking in all week, only to find – _of fucking course_ – Elias finally striding away from his front door.

Honestly, Adam had never had to work this hard for a shag in his life. He was, frankly, already knackered from the run over here and he was pretty certain that his current look was less _to die for_ and more _to order an ambulance for if he doesn’t sit down soon_. Anyone with an iota of sanity, or sense, or fucking self-preservation would surely, surely give up now, move on to better (if not bigger) things.

Adam hurried after Elias’ retreating back.

After all, he’d come this far, he wasn’t stopping now until he’d landed this big, stubborn, infuriating bull…

…who was rapidly disappearing around a corner.

_Shit._

Adam flung himself in Elias’ general direction, only narrowly avoiding a collision with a cyclist and ignoring the subsequent object lesson in Danish swearing, hoping that Elias’ attention wouldn’t be drawn by the all the fuss. For a moment he considered using his scarf as a makeshift mask, took another moment to consider whether he’d actually gone insane, and then took off after his quarry.

It was surprisingly hard to catch up with Elias, who seemed eager to reach his destination, if his quick gait was anything to go by. Adam kept losing him around corners and down random alleyways, and it was only luck that meant Elias hadn’t gotten away from him completely, somehow always seeming to stop to look at something – a shop, or an advert or, once, an apparently very interesting rock – long enough for Adam to find him again. In fact, Adam was concentrating so hard on keeping Elias in his sights that it wasn’t until the third time they passed the same set of shops that he realised Elias had been leading him in circles.

“What the fuck?” he exclaimed out loud. A little too out loud, he realised, clapping a hand over his mouth and ducking into the nearest side street. There was no way Elias hadn’t heard him…

But when Adam leaned back out, expecting to see a huge, confused Dane, instead he saw only an empty street. Sending up a prayer to whoever the patron saint of horny journalists was, Adam ran out of the alleyway, heading in the direction Elias had been going before he'd hidden.

Nothing.

No sign of his bull whatsoever.

_Fuck._

“Why are you following me?”

Adam made a noise that certainly was not a squeal and spun around to see Elias standing behind him with an expression halfway between angry and freaked out.

“Jesus, I need to put a bell round your neck!”

Elias narrowed his eyes and snapped, “I would not allow you to do such a thing, I am not an animal! Now, answer my question: why are you following me?”

“What? I… I’ve been doing nothing of the sort,” Adam spluttered, caught completely off guard.

“Do not lie to me, Adam. I have seen you many times in the last few days, hanging around my flat, always watching me. You are very noticeable and not very good at hiding. And you always wear that silly green scarf, which is not at all good camouflage.” Adam glanced down at the offending argument and had to concede that it wasn’t the most subtle of accessories, though he wasn’t sure what was silly about it. “And I made you follow me all this morning just to see if you would, so you have not got a leg to stand on.”

Adam was stunned. “You knew I was there the whole time?”

“Yes, you are very slow, I had to keep stopping to let you catch up. I think you need to do more exercise.”

Adam could do nothing more intelligent than let his mouth hang open.

Elias glared at him and continued, “Please tell me now why you are following me.”

Adam hesitated, but only for a moment. A half-truth had worked before, after all, it could well work again. “Look,” he began, “I’m new to this city, I don’t know anybody here and you’re the first person I’ve met who I’ve actually had a decent conversation with.” Actually, that was true – up until Elias, Adam had been far too busy getting hammered and feeling sorry for himself to say much more than _Make it a double_ or _Wanna fuck?_

“And this is your idea of how to make friends, by stalking them?” Elias asked, incredulous.

“ _No!_ I wasn’t… wasn’t stalking you. I just…” Adam sighed. “The thing is, back in London I trusted some people I shouldn’t have. Left me with some issues. I just… just wanted to check that you were… you know, that you didn’t have anything weird going on.” A lie, but not a complete one. Adam had found out in the last few years just who his real friends were. Sadly, as it turned out, he didn’t have any. He probably would still have done something like this if he had been interested in Elias (instead of just selected parts of him), would still have called it research instead of the fearful clutch for protection it surely was.

Adam ran a hand down his face and said, “Fuck, Elias, I’m sorry. This really wasn’t on, I’m a fucking mess.”

“Yes, you are.” Adam snapped his head up in shock at Elias’ matter-of-fact agreement but kept quiet as the man continued, “But loneliness will make a man do odd things.”

“I’m not lonely,” Adam protested, only to be interrupted by Elias shaking his head.

“I am not either. I am never lonely, I have hundreds of friends desperate to spend time with me.” Elias seemed to forcibly stop himself then, and took a deep breath before continuing. “They are just... not here at the moment. And you are. So you should come with me to have coffee, I think.”

Adam blinked. He couldn’t for the life of him tell whether Elias was being sincere or making fun of him. The man was fucking infuriating.

“Sure, Elias, I’ll go get coffee with you.”

 ***

They wound up sitting huddled together in a tiny café not far from Elias’ flat. Adam had actually passed by it a couple of times but had deemed it too quaint and old-fashioned for him – no way they would serve a decent soy milk macchiato and Adam doubted they even knew what cold brewing _was_. He’d been right too. It was all drip coffee and home baking and floral tablecloths.

It felt disturbingly like home.

Still, the baking wasn’t half bad, Adam considered, polishing off the remains of his _kanelstang_ (which translated, to Adam’s glee, as _cinnamon rod_ , or so Elias had solemnly informed him. To which Adam had barely refrained from replying that he’d much rather lick Elias’s cinnamon rod instead). And the trip had allowed him to glean some more useful information:

  1. Elias worked from home as a translator for… some science thing. Adam had tuned out after several minutes of Elias trying to convince him that all scientists were arrogant morons, wondering if there was a nice way to ask someone to wear a gag during sex.  
  

  2. He was only around ten years older than Adam, though Adam suspected with the grandad wardrobe and the ‘tache, (not to mention his own youthful complexion), it looked more like fifteen or even twenty.  
  

  3. He was oddly tactile, often taking Adam’s hand between his own while talking, and Adam was reminded of the extended hug Elias had taken him in at the pub, thinking that the man was probably touch-starved. Frustratingly though, when Adam tried to reciprocate, placing a hand on Elias’ knee, he had jumped away as if Adam had bitten him. Though possibly this was because:  
  

  4. Elias was insatiable.



In the two hours they’d spent at the café, Elias had visited the bathroom no less than four times, and given his sweaty, rumpled appearance upon each return, Adam had no doubt what he’d been up to. Apparently the five-fingered fandango Adam had busted in on at the pub wasn’t a one-off. Insatiable _and_ an almost inhuman refractory period, at almost fifty? Hell, if he had only been a little more presentable, Adam might have considered keeping him around for more than a fling.

Adam was just considering whether following Elias into the bathroom during his next trip there might be the most expedient course of action, when their waitress – a mousy little redhead with a nice smile and a blowsy apron – stopped by their table to ask if they’d enjoyed their food.

“It was very good, thank you,” Elias told her, in a stiff and quiet voice that sounded nothing like the loud, blustering man he was around everyone else. Adam peered at him, curious, but didn’t work out what was going on until Elias added, even quieter than before, “your… apron… is very pretty,” and blushed to the roots of his curls.

_Oh hell no._

“Thank you, Elias, you’re very sweet,” the waitress replied, and Elias practically floated off the ground with pride.

“Yeah, thanks,” Adam muttered as she removed his mug and went back to the kitchen. He glared at Elias, trying very hard not to blurt out something stupid.

He lasted a whole three seconds.

“You have a crush on that waitress!” he hissed.

“What? I have no such thing,” Elias protested. “You are making things up. In fact, she probably has a crush on me. Many women—” Again, Elias seemed to actively stop himself from continuing and took a deep breath, his eyes closing for a moment.

“What is that?” Adam asked. “Why do you keep stopping yourself?”

Elias glared at him for a few seconds and Adam felt uncomfortably like the man was trying to see inside his soul. Apparently something about the wretched, rotten, wreck of a thing passed muster, because Elias eventually nodded to himself and started talking.

“Sometimes I lie,” Elias took a deep breath, as though this was difficult for him to say, “and make up stories, because they sound better than the truth. And my brother says this is not a good way to be, and that no one will ever love me if I am not honest.”

“Well that’s me fucked then,” Adam grinned, but was met with only a blank stare. “Cos I’m a journalist, right?”

“A journalist who is unemployed.”

Strangely unoffended, Adam grinned. “Fine, yes, thanks for the reminder. Still a journalist though. I’ve spent my entire life making up stories that sound better than the truth, and getting richly rewarded for it.”

Elias levelled a serious look at him. “And has anyone ever loved you?”

“Depends on your definition of love.” Adam couldn’t help but waggle his eyebrows lasciviously in Elias’ direction.

“Oh. So you are good with women?”

“Not just women.”

Elias seemed to ignore him completely, his attention drifting out across the café and to…

_Oh no._

_Oh shit._

“Then, if I did, perhaps, like a person, you would be a good person to advise me on how to… get them.”

“Get them?” Oh no. No way. No way was Adam going to spend his valuable time helping some dismal bint take the ride of her life. That monster in Elias’ trousers was Adam’s, he saw it first. He had _dibs_.

“A friend would do this for another friend. You said you wanted to be my friend.”

_Fuck._

If he said no now, Elias would surely reject any further contact. And Adam wanted further contact. He wanted contact so far he couldn’t walk straight for a week. Besides, while he hesitated, Elias was looking at him with big brown eyes, just starting to brim with tears of disappointment. It would be… unpleasant, to say no to that face. Just the thought of it was giving Adam that strange feeling in his stomach again…

Although, maybe there was a better option. As Adam thought about it, a plan began to form. This could actually work in his favour. He could, under the guise of _helping_ , steer Elias towards some better clothes, a more flattering hairstyle… a razor, or at least some scissors in order to groom that hideous bit of fuzz masquerading as a moustache. And all the while, he’d be gently convincing Elias’ dick that Adam was a much better prospect for its future happiness than some frump in an apron.

“Well sure, Elias,” he said, smiling wide, “anything for a friend.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://victorineb.tumblr.com). I promise I'm easier to track down than Elias!


	4. Attempt 4: Slip Into Something Less Comfortable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shopping with Elias proves to be complicated... in more ways than one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there, been a while, huh? I'm sorry, I have no excuse, I can only thank anyone still reading for your patience, I love you for sticking with me <3

“I do not understand the point.”

“You don’t understand what point, Elias?”

“I have perfectly good shirts already, why would I need any more?”

“They’re not perfectly good shirts, Elias. They’re perfectly ugly shirts and you don’t get laid wearing ugly shirts, so you need to go try those on, with these trousers, and these ones and I know you didn’t just try to sneak a cardigan in there when I wasn’t looking. And I can hear you muttering so don’t even start.”

Adam shoved the protesting man towards the changing rooms, uncaring of the looks the other customers were throwing their way. This was the third store they’d been in today; in the first two Elias had flat-out refused to try on any clothes, claiming he couldn’t find anything that was “his style.” Given that Adam had mentally christened Elias’ look as _Farmer Frumpypants_ , he was done accepting that as a valid excuse. Besides, Adam wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity to get Elias alone in a changing cubicle for a while.

Not that Elias was playing ball on that front, either.

“Absolutely not. That is not a normal thing that men do,” Elias ranted.

“Look, I need to see you in the clothes. You’re not gonna show me them out here, I’m guessing,” Adam said, gesturing to the changing room, half-full of other men, “ergo, I need to be in there with you. Otherwise, what’s the point of me even being here?”

“I thought perhaps it was to force me to consider ridiculous items of clothing,” Elias grumbled.

“No,” Adam retorted, glaring at Elias’ ugly beige pullover, “it’s to persuade you to take them off.”

Elias raised an eyebrow at this and Adam… oh god, Adam actually blushed a little.

Elias peered at him for a moment and then said, “Do you enjoy watching men being naked in confined spaces?”

Adam flapped his mouth like a landed fish and was about to protest when he noticed the twinkle in Elias’ eyes.

“Was that… were you making fun of me, big guy?” Adam asked, a grin spreading over his face to match the one that had slid onto Elias’.

“Perhaps,” Elias said, ducking his head. “Did you think it was funny?”

“Oh yeah, hilarious,” Adam groused, nudging him with an elbow, but the exasperation in his voice was outweighed by the fondness. Another time Adam might have stopped to consider that, but he was far too busy corralling Elias into an open cubicle to pay it much mind. “Come on, Elias, get your gigantic carcass in there, then we’ll see who’s making fun of who.”

Adam felt Elias stiffen a little in front of him, and then that familiar defensive tone rang out. “There is nothing about my body to make fun of. I am in excellent shape, very muscular and well-built. Anybody would be lucky…” He trailed off and Adam watched in dismay as Elias’ shoulders drooped and he seemed to fold in on himself as he faced the changing room’s full-length mirror.

“You know what, Elias, you’re right,” Adam declared, locking the door behind them and coming to stand beside Elias at the mirror, placing a hand on his shoulder. He found Elias’ eyes in their reflection and held them, saying, “Nothing wrong with this body at all.” He smiled as Elias’ expression turned hopeful, and pressed himself closer to the man beside him, letting his arm snake around Elias. “Very muscular and well-built, indeed.” Adam could feel Elias’ warmth leaking through his clothing and knew that he must be aching to touch himself, if past form was anything to go by. As they continued to gaze at each other, Adam let his hand drop from Elias’ shoulder to his back, stroking gently, grazing just shy of his ass.

“Adam,” Elias started, his voice low and unsure.

“Yes, Elias?”

“Would you… um, would you…”

A little flutter of hope started in Adam’s stomach. A changing room wouldn’t have been his first choice for this, but he was flexible, and the walls looked sturdy enough. If he braced himself against…

“Would you turn your back while I am undressing, please?”

_Oh._

_Well, shit._

Adam removed his hand from Elias’ back, trying to keep the hurt from his face. “Uh, sure thing, big guy, whatever you need,” he said, making a convincing stab at blasé while avoiding Elias’ eyes.

“Thank you,” Elias muttered softly, and Adam had to pivot quickly to stop him seeing the flush that was erupting on his cheeks.

_Just can’t help but make a fool of yourself, can you Towers?_

Adam scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to repress the urge to smack himself. Instead he focussed his eyes straight ahead… and was confronted by a second, smaller mirror, precisely angled to give him a perfect view of Elias disrobing. Adam considered the moral implications of continuing to stare for a full ten seconds (a feat worthy of Gandhi, in his opinion), before leaning in a little to get a better look.

It was the strangest strip show Adam had ever seen (and he’d once seen one involving a donkey). Elias had the body for it, no doubt. Spectacular shoulders and strong arms (clearly holding Adam up against a wall would have proved no trouble). The most glorious pelt of silvering curls on his chest, just begging to be used as a handhold while riding that ridiculous dick. A little pudge round the middle, which Adam was just itching to get his hands (and mouth) on. Long, surprisingly slender legs that might’ve made Adam wonder if he’d been a dancer, except… nobody would ever use the word _graceful_ to describe Elias. He might have dancer’s legs but he had the balance of a particularly clumsy penguin, which wasn’t helped by his attempt to take his trousers off over his boots. Adam twice had to stop himself swinging round to catch the man as he teetered off balance. He was also loud, huffing and grumbling and swearing in Danish (and Adam was really going to have to remind himself to learn what some of those meant if he was going to stick around in this country), to the point where Adam was expecting a knock at the door to check nobody was being murdered inside.

Eventually, when Elias managed to get himself stuck while pulling on a jumper, Adam decided it was time to intervene. “Elias, I’m hearing some worrying noises. I’m gonna turn round and check you haven’t passed out from the shock of wearing something that wasn’t designed in 1952, ok?”

Elias just grunted in response, so Adam turned cautiously and approached the big bull as if expecting to get gored at any moment.

_Chance’d be a fine thing_.

Gently, Adam reached out and untangled the hem of the jumper, feeling Elias flinch a little but not actively attempt to kill him. Reassured, Adam pulled at the jumper until Elias’ head emerged, more than a little rumpled but apparently still in full working order, if a little sheepish looking. Adam grinned at him. “Knew you had to be in there somewhere, curly.”

“Why do you call me that? You are curly too. More curly even than me.”

“Not remotely true. You’re the curliest person I’ve ever seen, curly. I bet even your moustache has curls in it.”

“You keep making fun of me.”

“Yeah, but don’t get big headed. I only make fun of people I like.”

“That does not make sense, Adam.”

“I know, I can’t understand why I like you either.” Elias opened his mouth to object and Adam took hold of his jumper again. “Watch out, big guy, or I’ll put you back in here.”

Elias narrowed his eyes and Adam thought for a minute he might be about to receive a headbutt from his very annoyed bull. But then Elias’ expression relaxed and he smiled shyly. “I like you too, Adam,” he said, and then pulled the smaller man in for a rib-crushing hug.

Adam allowed it for a moment, allowed himself to feel how good it was to be held against the solid planes of Elias’ chest, his head tucked under Elias’ chin, held steady by his strong arms… And then he forced himself to push Elias away a little, slip out from his grasp, ignore the confused look on Elias’ face.   

“Alright, enough of that soppy stuff, time to see how you look,” Adam said, forcing a bright, chipper tone. He regarded Elias and had to grin. Somehow the man had managed to make even these clothes look loosely cobbled together, despite Adam’s expert involvement in choosing them. “Ok, big fella, it’s a good start,” he said, “we just need to do a little adjusting.”

Starting by taming Elias’ mop of curls – as much as possible, not like Adam had tonsorial superpowers – he moved his way down, straightening Elias’ collar, making sure his seams weren’t twisted, that both sleeves were pulled down to the wrists (and if he lingered for a second on Elias’ long fingers, well, he was only human). Then he reached down, taking hold of the hem of Elias’ jumper, and was just tugging it gently into place when the tips of his fingers brushed against the tent in the front of Elias’ pants.

Adam froze when he realised what he’d done, anticipating being thrown out of the cubicle immediately. Instead, he watched as Elias’ eyes fluttered shut and he gave out a breathy noise, somewhere between a sigh and a moan. Adam couldn’t help but to respond, letting his fingers drag across the hard swell of Elias’ dick and pressing himself a little closer against his unresisting body. He was rewarded with another moan, and a tiny shudder as Elias rocked into his hand, and Adam allowed a smile to creep across his lips at this unexpected development. He brought his lips up to Elias’ ear and practically purred, “Let me help you out, sweetheart, let me take care of that.”

Sadly, instead of drawing another sweet sound from Elias, this only had the effect of causing him to redden and pull back from Adam, as if he’d only just realised what was happening. Looking anywhere but at Adam, he sputtered, “No… I… no, thank you, Adam. I do not need help, everything is quite normal. Could I please ask you to wait outside?”

Adam stared at the clearly still very aroused man, completely at a loss. He’d been expecting either to be tackled to the ground and ravished, or to witness a titanic temper tantrum. He had no idea what to do with this weirdly polite brush-off. In the absence of any better ideas, he decided to do just as Elias asked, and get the fuck out of there.

“Yeah, that’s alright, Elias. I’ll be out here when you’re done, if that’s ok?”

Elias just nodded, and looked so wounded that Adam might have tried to hug him if he thought it wouldn’t just make things worse. Instead he nodded in return and left, gently closing the door behind him. He pressed his ear against it for a second, checking for the sound of tears, but if Elias was crying he was doing it silently and Adam could hardly go back in just to check. He huffed an exasperated sigh, gently adjusted his own rapidly-deflating dick, and wandered back out into the store.

It took another twenty minutes for Elias to re-emerge, and Adam had no idea whether it was because he’d waited for his erection to subside on its own or had taken care of it once he’d been given some privacy. From the slightly glazed expression on Elias’ face as he approached, Adam suspected it was the latter and failed miserably not to feel irritated about it. He’d spent his time waiting for Elias growing ever more exasperated by the memory of what had gone on between them. Elias was attracted to Adam, that much was obvious, and he claimed to like him, but for whatever reason he wasn’t interested in taking things any further. So what the fuck was Adam still doing here if he wasn’t going to get any?

He very strongly considered just walking out of the store without a backwards glance and doing everything in his power to never encounter Elias ever again. Including moving to yet another country. Except the way Elias sidled up to him, with a sheepish expression and a tangled pile of clothing in his outstretched arms, put Adam in mind of a kicked puppy and even he wasn’t enough of a monster to walk out on a dumb animal.

He wasn’t above dropping it at the kennels for a while though.

Having sorted through the pile of clothing and forcing Elias to buy at least a couple of items (Adam noticed with a smirk that the pants Elias had been wearing during their… incident, were conspicuous by their absence), Adam decided to change tack.

“Fancy a break from challenging your sartorial boundaries, big guy?”

Elias nodded so vigorously, Adam was worried he’d shake something loose in his brain ( _though that might not be the worst thing_ , he thought). “Yes, I think that is a very good idea. I saw a very nice little café not far from here, perhaps we stop for a drink?”

Adam bit his tongue in order to stifle the quip about needing to replenish fluids that was threatening to slip out. Instead, he waved a hand and said, “In a bit, maybe. I’ve got another idea first, though. More to a makeover than just clothes, curly.”

Elias looked more than a little terrified at this, but it was nothing compared to the look of horror that crossed his face as Adam dragged him towards an old-fashioned (for Elias’ sake) but high-end (for Adam’s) barber. As they neared the door, he stopped and turned, putting himself between Adam and the dreaded hairdresser with his arms out in front of him in defence. “Adam, this is really completely unnecessary. I have no need of a barber, I have cut my own hair for years,” he argued, pulling at his dishevelled mop as if it would prove his point. At least Adam’s own dishevelled mop was like that on purpose. It was a dishevelled mop _with style._

Adam threw him a withering look and walked straight up to Elias, jabbing his finger in the stubborn idiot’s chest. “Yeah, and it shows, Elias. I suppose I should be thankful that you didn’t do it with a pudding bowl but faint praise never won fair maiden… or something to that effect,” he concluded, still prodding at Elias, who was now walking backwards in an attempt to avoid being poked again.

“Please stop doing that,” Elias said, wincing every time Adam’s finger made contact, “it is very annoying.”

“Is it? Is it _really?_ ” Adam asked, his frustration getting the better of him. “You know what else is annoying? Is someone who asks for your help and then refuses to take any notice of your advice.” _Prod._ “Is someone who thinks he knows everything and won’t listen to a word anyone else says.” _Jab._ “Is someone who gives every impression of wanting something and then chickens out when it’s offered to him on a silver-”

Adam had more to say, except Elias chose this as the perfect moment to trip over his own feet and, not content with embarrassing just himself, grab at Adam so that they both fell backwards through the barbershop door, Elias landing on his back with Adam lying on top of him.

“-fucking platter,” Adam concluded, the words punched out of him along with all the air in his lungs. He took a moment to catalogue himself for any injuries, trying not to notice the warm, hard body pressed against every inch of him and failing miserably due to the way Elias was wriggling in apparent discomfort. “Would you just hold still for a minute?” he snapped, pinning Elias by the shoulders.

“I am perfectly still,” Elias grumbled, instantly disproving the statement by writhing beneath Adam again. “I am only moving in order to dislodge you, you are very heavy and cumbersome.”

“Gee thanks,” Adam muttered, rolling his eyes. “Just be quiet and let me check you aren’t concussed. Look up at me?” Elias did so, turning his head to meet Adam’s eyes. Which meant Adam was suddenly aware of just how close their faces were. Close enough for Elias’ breath to gust across his cheek. Close enough to see the greying streaks in his moustache. Close enough, if Adam only bent his head a little, to brush their mouths together and…

“Excuse me gentlemen,” a voice asked in heavily-accented but perfect English, “I was just wondering if you intended on adorning my floor for the entire afternoon?”

Ten minutes later, after having scrambled to their feet and apologised profusely to the barber for besmirching his establishment, Adam was watching, mesmerised, as he inspected Elias’ head, turning it this way and that as if he expected to find treasure hidden amongst the shaggy curls. Adam had to hide a laugh behind his hand as Elias grunted inelegantly at this treatment, clearly equally at a loss as to why he was being manhandled in such a way. Finally, the barber – a hipsterish sort with heavily-tattooed arms and a gigantic ginger beard – stepped back and, noticing the two men staring at him, grinned sheepishly.

“Sorry, just, I’ve never seen so many colours on one head before. Brown, silver, blonde…”

“Yeah, there’s even a little bit of copper,” Adam remarked, and then wondered how the hell he even knew that.

“Hey, you’re right!” The barber’s hands were back in Elias’ hair, which was apparently the last straw for Elias.

“It is very rude for you to keep pulling at my hair like that. I am not a dog to be petted, I am a man, as should be very obvious, and you should be more respectful with your customers.” Elias glared at the startled barber’s reflection, and this time Adam couldn’t disguise his laughter.

“Alright, curly,” he interjected, still chuckling at the pout on Elias’ face. “You can’t blame the man for being mesmerised by your follicular beauty. But maybe some actual hair could get cut now?” he added, winking at the barber, who grinned gratefully.

“Of course, sorry about that, got a bit carried away,” the barber said, releasing Elias’ hair and giving him an apologetic smile, to which Elias merely grunted.

Adam punched him lightly in the arm, “Hey, who’s being rude now?”

“The one who is punching me,” Elias retorted. Adam rolled his eyes but couldn’t help a grin in response, and was pleased to find Elias smiling back at him.

The barber, apparently seeing an opportunity to continue without Elias growling at him again, got his attention and asked, “Did you have any particular style in mind?” Elias looked a little panicked at the question, and the barber took pity on him. “I could make some suggestions, if it would help?”

Elias nodded, “Yes I think you should, you are the hairdresser after all, I should not have to do your job for you.”

Adam thought about punching him again, but the barber leapt on this opening, beginning to list possible styles. None of which, for some reason, Adam could imagine on Elias’ head, despite having been desperate to update those ridiculous curls since he first laid eyes on them.

“We could even straighten it, you know, I could relax those curls, they’re a bit old-fashioned, really.”

“Relax?” Elias looked completely lost, and flicked his eyes up to look beseechingly at Adam…

…who was, totally unexpectedly, finding himself incredibly reluctant to let the barber change Elias’ style at all. He stared back at the older man’s confused expression for a moment and then said, a little weakly, “You know, I think maybe all he needs is a trim…”

“Are you sure,” the barber asked, “because, you know, he might look really good if I-”

“Yeah, a trim will be just fine, just tidy him up a bit, you know?” Adam babbled, wondering what the hell was happening to him.

“Alright, you’re the boss,” the barber said with a shrug, and then slid round to eye Elias’ face. “Now, we also offer a shaving service. How about getting rid of this moustache, it’s a little-”

“ _No!_ ” Adam only realised he’d shouted the word after both Elias and the barber turned to look at him with matching shocked expressions.

_What the hell is going on with you Towers? Anyone would think you_ liked _the way the big bull looks._

 He coughed sheepishly and continued, “Um, that is to say, I think Elias would prefer to keep the moustache, right big guy?”

“Oh, but he would look so much better if-” the barber started to say, before Elias held up a hand to interrupt.

“Please excuse Adam, he is trying to be nice and to save my feelings but he is right. I look much better with a moustache because of…” Adam watched in dismay as Elias’ eyes flicked down to his own mouth in disgust. “Well, in any case, I think he is correct that you should not shave it,” he concluded, and Adam could hear the pain beneath his usual bluster.

“Elias, no,” he protested, “that isn’t why I said…”

_Yeah? Then why the hell did you say it? Couldn’t be that you actually like the weirdo, could it?_

“Oh shit,” Adam murmured.

“It is quite alright, Adam, I understand,” Elias said, giving him a weak smile. “You are trying to help me. You’re a good friend.”

_I don’t want to be your friend, though. Fuck. Oh fuck, I like you._

Adam could only watch helplessly as the barber took Elias off to get his hair washed, not even enough wits about him to tell him that there was nothing wrong with his mouth, in fact it was a lovely mouth, a mouth Adam couldn’t stop thinking about, couldn’t stop wanting to put a smile on, tease a laugh from, kiss soft and deep and…

_Oh fuck._

Adam was in trouble.

He stumbled across to the washstands, babbled something about being in the pub across the road when Elias was finished, and stumbled out the door in almost as disastrous a fashion as he had come in through it. He nearly got clattered by a bike _again_ , got treated to some colourful Danish vocabulary _again_ , and practically threw himself against the bar when he got there, causing the barmaid to jump in alarm.

“Sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” Adam said, holding his hands up in apology. “It’s just been a rough day.”

She gave him the once over and, apparently deciding he wasn’t a dangerous lunatic, threw him a sympathetic look. “Lost your job?”

“No. Well, yes, but not today.”

“Bad news at the doctor?”

“No, healthy as a bull… um, horse.”

She narrowed her eyes and studied him briefly, before declaring, “Well then, I suppose it must be love.”

Adam gaped at her for a second, and then laid his head down and started banging it against the bar.

“Aw, come on sweetheart,” she said, consolingly, “try not to dent the woodwork, it can’t be all that bad.”

He squinted up at her for a moment and then continued banging, punctuating each blow with, “Never. Fall. For. A. Straight. Bull.”

“Um… bull?”

He stopped banging and simply left his head on the bar, turning it slightly to tell her, “Yeah. Bull-headed. Bull-mannered. And, sadly for me, hung like one too.”

“Oh, honey. You want a stiff one?”

“You’re kidding me, right?”

The barmaid giggled and patted him on the head, before placing a glass in front of him and filling it with whiskey. “On the house, el matador.”

“Salud,” Adam tipped the glass at her, and then promptly tipped its contents down his neck.  

She refilled it, patted him on the cheek, and wandered off to collect glasses, leaving Adam with his thoughts.

_Well look at you, the great Adam Towers has finally lost his heart. To Farmer Frumpypants. What a joke._

Adam’s thoughts were shitty company.

He’d just wanted to get laid. What was the point of encountering a beast like the one between Elias’ legs and not getting a ride? Falling for the guy that came attached was never part of the plan.

A plan. That was what Adam needed. Some way of getting Elias out of his life without Elias realising he was being got rid of, so that Adam could get past this stupid crush and go back to having large amounts of meaningless sex. Which was what he really wanted. Not any of this _love_ stuff. Definitely not.

Adam watched the barmaid moving between tables and found himself thinking about the waitress in the café. “That’d work,” he muttered to himself, grasping on for dear life to a new possibility. And he wouldn’t even need to change what he’d been doing – he’d just be sincere about it this time.

Adam nodded his head, feeling reassured to have decided on a course of action. He would continue to coach Elias on how to woo his waitress, this time without any thoughts of sabotage or seducing him for himself. And then, when Elias was happily ensconced in his boring, frumpy relationship, Adam would simply fade into the background, a friendship that had just run its course and fizzled out.

And if it hurt Adam’s heart to think of it, it would all work out for the best in the long run. There were always plenty of other dicks in the sea.

**Author's Note:**

> Come follow me to [tumblr](http://victorineb.tumblr.com/) where we can squeal about Hannigram, Madancy and all those good things <3.


End file.
